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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29736918">Isle of Beauty</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/zakhad/pseuds/zakhad'>zakhad</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Standalone Stories [24]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Star Trek: The Next Generation</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Episode: s03e26-s04e01 The Best of Both Worlds Parts 1-2, Gen, Post-Episode: s04e02 Family</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-02-27</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-02-27</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-15 20:54:08</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>14,497</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/29736918</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/zakhad/pseuds/zakhad</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>If you have any understanding of trauma or therapy, you know that the episode Family cannot possibly have accurately depicted Captain Picard's full recovery from assimilation. </p><p>Based on suggestions from Silverfairy22 and Aussiefan70, but canon compliant. I suppose it could be considered an episode coda of sorts.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Standalone Stories [24]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1596688</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>7</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>13</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Isle of Beauty</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The more you struggle to live, the less you live. Give up the notion that you must be sure of what you are doing. Instead, surrender to what is real within you, for that alone is sure.</p><p>― <strong>Spinoza</strong></p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>“We could go to Thebes,” Will said, his eyebrow rising and falling in that manner that tipped her off that this was an invitation to join him in one of those infrequent interludes away from the ship.</p><p>Deanna folded the top and dropped it in the drawer, deciding she didn’t want to take it after all. Nudging it shut with her knee, she turned to study the rack of necklaces on the counter. “No thank you.”</p><p>Will Riker watched her select a couple of the necklaces with a confused little wrinkle in his brow. “So what are you planning?”</p><p>“I’m going to find a beach. And I’m going to relax -- no interruptions, no clients, no company, just me and quiet sounds of waves on sand.”</p><p>“I know it was hard, dealing with the captain. I was thinking a walk in the Greek countryside might be just the thing,” he commented.</p><p>She thought about how much he didn’t know about what it had taken to help the captain recover from assimilation, and how imperative it was not to tell him about it. Will wanted to be supportive. She understood and appreciated that. But she also wanted a break from having others misunderstand what her work entailed. Helping Captain Picard through the darkest hours of his life had drained her, and she absolutely didn’t need Will’s attempts to play the sex god he wanted to be. She needed a nice, quiet vacation to recover her equilibrium.</p><p>Deanna dropped the necklaces in a pocket along the inside of the case and pressed it shut. The next thing -- shoes. “Maybe my beach will be in Greece, maybe it won’t.” Leaving him there, she retreated behind the wall that only partially separated the sleeping area from the living area in her small quarters. She went through her shoes on the floor of the closet and selected a pair of walking shoes, some flimsy sandals she liked to use on the beach, and a pair of black heels -- covering all the bases. When she returned to the low table on which the case lay open and dropped them in, she noticed his eyes on her selections.</p><p>“What are <em>you</em> going to do on leave?” she asked, ignoring his earlier suggestions that <em>we</em> were doing anything together.</p><p>She returned to the sleeping area as he huffed audibly at the question. One dress, two dress, pantsuit, wrap. Sunscreen. Travel kit with toiletries. Makeup. Hair brush. The small case with a few of her favorite sex toys. The book she had borrowed from Captain Picard sat on the nightstand; she picked it up as well. It was the first thing she dropped in the case, followed by the toiletries and the small black tote with the toys, and she folded each of the clothing items to carefully arrange under Will’s watchful eye as he thought about her question.</p><p>“I guess I’ll let you know when we come back. See you in two weeks?”</p><p>“Sure,” she said lightly, finally giving him eye contact and a smile. “I hope you have a great time.”</p><p>His smile waned, and he took a step forward. She sensed the upwelling of emotion and didn’t like the probability that what he would say would be an appeal for renegotiating their relationship. He did this from time to time, and she decided this would be the last time.</p><p>“I hope we can continue to be friends, even if the captain doesn’t return and you assume command, but I understand if that becomes untenable,” she said, clasping her hands in front of her. She gazed at him with her best calm demeanor, practiced and polished for use with overemotional clients and superior officers.</p><p>“You think the captain won’t return?”</p><p>Of course. The other implications hadn’t quite registered. “I don’t know. I haven’t heard from him. He was in a fairly good state of mind when he left, but seemed uncertain about what he would decide.” She took a step toward him, her blue skirt swinging around her ankles. “Will… please don’t take this the wrong way. But I would appreciate it if you could stop inviting me on leave with you.”</p><p>He nodded once, out of reflex. She could sense his reaction; it stung, but it wasn’t surprising to him. “Have a good vacation, Deanna.”</p><p>“You too, Will. Good bye for now.”</p><p>She smiled, but he didn’t look at her face as he left. She stared at the closed door for a few seconds, then turned to look at Earth -- the green-blue planet partially covered with white clouds. She’d never spent much time sight-seeing there.</p><p>“Computer, I would like a list of remote beaches in the Mediterranean. Ones with more privacy.”</p><p>While she closed the case and picked it up, the computer listed out a few options, and she questioned each -- she wandered back into the sleeping area to glance around for things she might have forgotten while she decided. After three or four discarded potential destinations it became obvious to her that she could become bogged down in the details too easily. There were far too many beaches in the Mediterranean alone, it could take forever wandering through the database trying to select one.</p><p>She thought about something the captain had told her once, about spending a summer on an island with his family and enjoying the quiet little town of Porto-Vecchio. It had been one of the few family vacations he’d enjoyed thoroughly, because he and his brother had been free to wander the beaches and he’d found friends while staying there, including one of his first girlfriends. His description of the island as one of those places on Earth that had been restored to historical, traditional ways of life suggested that it might be just what she was looking for, far from the more modern cities.</p><p>Striding out of her quarters, she slung the strap over a shoulder and tucked the case under an arm, and headed for the transporter room on her way to Corsica.</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>Marie Picard rolled and kneaded the dough on the counter with practiced, automatic movements of her hands, thinking about her husband and his brother out in the vines.</p><p>Jean-Luc was a complicated man. He wasn’t telling them everything; he seemed to have found his equilibrium, and yet, she could tell he was holding back. Robert had happily accepted that things were settled between them after that silly brawl in the field. But Marie kept an eye on things in her household, and she could tell Jean-Luc still had something to resolve. She would walk through the house and find him standing at a window deep in thought, his expression suggesting unhappiness or even anger. But the instant he noticed her, the easy smile returned.</p><p>She thought about what he’d said about his ship, especially after the brothers reconciled and he loosened up. He’d mentioned his senior officers, and talked about the non-human members of the crew with prompting from Rene, who wanted to know all about the Klingons. The counselor was Betazoid -- Jean-Luc had commented that he owed her a great deal, she’d helped him through the aftermath of the assimilation trauma. But Marie wondered if he needed more help than that.</p><p>Certainly, nothing as awful as assimilation could be so easy to forget. And it had only been a few weeks. And he was so solitary! She’d heard nothing in conversations that hinted at even a close friend. It concerned her, that he had only a counselor for emotional support.</p><p>Boots on the hardwood floor behind her preceded her brother-in-law’s voice. “Brioche?”</p><p>“Yes.” She glanced over her shoulder. “Robert is still in the vineyard?”</p><p>“He’s talking to Andre about the <em>cuvee</em>. Anything I can do to help?”</p><p>Marie smiled and continued to knead. “I wonder if I could ask the same? I think you are better, but not quite back to yourself.”</p><p>It was the first time she’d called it out so bluntly. He stood stiffly in the middle of the kitchen, wearing his dusty trousers and white shirt, and she could almost hear him thinking it through. How to rebuff, defend, and still be polite.</p><p>But his shoulders dropped, and he took a few more steps to stand next to her at the counter. “You’re very perceptive. You would have made a good counselor.”</p><p>“It doesn’t take a title or special training to be aware when someone is experiencing difficulty,” she chided, rolling the dough into a loaf with firm pats of her hands. “I wonder if you should talk to your counselor some more.”</p><p>His head came up a little, as if he were about to disagree. But he was as controlled as ever. Nothing like Robert, who would speak his mind freely. “You’re probably right. But it will have to wait. I’m sure she is on leave, as I am.”</p><p>“Would you like something to drink?” She tossed a towel over the loaf, leaving it to rise for a while. “I’m making tea.”</p><p>“Thank you, I would. I’ll go change out of these dirty clothes.”</p><p>She had the impression he was fleeing, but he returned wearing soft-soled shoes and clean trousers to join her in her parlor. She set the tea tray on the table and chose the wingback chair in the corner, leaving the settee for him. It meant they faced each other over their tea cups. She watched him make his usual cup of Earl Grey.</p><p>“Are you still thinking about your experience with the Borg often?” she asked, reaching for the small tin of Darjeeling leaves.</p><p>“Today I’m considering what Louis has to offer,” he said offhandedly, lifting his cup. “Whether I should take the position.”</p><p>“That wasn’t an answer to my question.”</p><p>“Are you certain you aren’t a counselor?” he said with a wry smile. “That’s one of Deanna’s favorite tactics.”</p><p>“Deanna?”</p><p>“Counselor Troi,” he said. “She’s also a good friend.”</p><p>Marie frowned a little. “I have a sister who practices psychology. That doesn’t sound quite right. She’s said she isn’t able to be friends with her clients. She couldn’t help us with Rene, when we were having a little trouble with his behavior.”</p><p>“Well, I consider her a friend… perhaps she sees it differently.”</p><p>“It must be difficult, to work with a subordinate, see her as her patient, and also be her friend,” Marie said, stirring a spoon of sugar into her tea. Just a little sweetness, for a strong tea.</p><p>“I hadn’t thought so.”</p><p>“Because you hold everyone at arm’s length? Because you so rarely let anyone see past that composed wall you build around yourself?” Marie sipped, and approved of her tea. Took another sip. “I’ve met those who build their identity around their work before. It’s a lonely way to be. It’s sad to see.”</p><p>“I’ve enjoyed my career, it’s been quite rewarding. I don’t see myself as sad.”</p><p>“Are you lonely?”</p><p>She half expected him to make an excuse and leave, or be dismissive. But he put the fine china cup on the table and folded his hands in his lap, and gazed at the teapot. “At times I have been. I do have friends, you know.”</p><p>“But officers also have spouses, and I know this to be true. I’ve met a few of them over the years. It may be difficult but it can be managed, to have both.”</p><p>He chuckled suddenly. “Am I about to be introduced to one of your friends, Marie?”</p><p>“Oh, no,” she said with a light giggle. “Don’t be silly. Clearly it would be better to find someone who understands Starfleet -- someone who could be with you. And why is that so difficult to consider? You’re laughing at me.”</p><p>“I’m not,” he replied, but he kept grinning. “It’s simply not something I have any inclination to do. I wouldn’t wish my company on anyone, Marie. What could I possibly have to offer anyone?”</p><p>“True enough, I suppose. Why would any woman want to associate themselves with an intelligent, strong, handsome Starfleet captain who’s well-read, well-traveled and to all appearances has absolutely nothing wrong with him?”</p><p>“To all appearances,” he echoed.</p><p>“Jean-Luc,” she chided softly, shaking her head. “You don’t want close relationships because you don’t want to lose another loved one? Or is it that you don’t want to seem somehow weak, that you have someone you rely on? If you don’t understand what a relationship really is, what good is your counselor really doing for you?”</p><p>At that, he pursed his lips and glared across the table at her. Defensive on his counselor’s behalf? She almost laughed. He had such an indignant expression that reminded her of Rene being stubborn.</p><p>The sound of the front door echoed through the house. Marie smiled at Rene’s happy shout for her. “In the parlor, Rene,” she called out. Her boy charged in, his hair wild, glancing back and forth at them. “Why so excited?”</p><p>“Maman! I won!” He held up a ribbon. She remembered the math competition then, and smiled happily, holding out her arms. He came around the table and leaned in for a warm embrace.</p><p>“Congratulations. I know you worked so hard practicing for it,” she exclaimed. “Go show your papa.”</p><p>“You see, Uncle?” Rene waved the blue ribbon in Jean-Luc’s direction.</p><p>“I see! Congratulations,” Jean-Luc said fondly. “You must be very good at math.”</p><p>“He’s very determined,” Marie said. “We teach him he can do anything he sets his mind to, and he proves that he can.”</p><p>“Where is Papa?” Rene exclaimed.</p><p>“Try the winery, near the casks,” Jean-Luc suggested.</p><p>The boy ran off through the house, and for once Marie didn’t shout for him to walk -- he was so excited and proud. She heard a door slam in the distance and it was quiet once more. When she glanced at Jean-Luc, he had a faraway expression and seemed to be sad.</p><p>“Do you want children, Jean-Luc?”</p><p>His eyes flicked up to hers. Again, he surprised her by not retreating from the question. “I’ve thought about it from time to time. I’ve always dismissed the possibility. And now I doubt that I would find anyone to have them with me.”</p><p>“Because you’re so old? Your older brother has a boy,” she exclaimed. “I cannot fathom how someone who is so intelligent is managing to believe himself into a tiny prison of his own making. You’re able to travel the galaxy doing the impossible to protect the Federation, but you’re unable to manage a close relationship with someone? No doubt that’s your fear of failure speaking to you, drowning out all the possibilities. I hope that you find someone who helps you stop being so afraid of intimacy.”</p><p>He gazed at her wide-eyed. The silent moment drew itself out, then he reached for the tea and finished it, set aside the cup, and stood. “Thank you for the tea. I think I’ll go for a walk.”</p><p>“Will we see you for dinner?”</p><p>“Of course. But… I have been thinking of going somewhere for a few days to spend some time alone. I’d like to revisit Corsica. If it’s all right, I’d like to return and spend the rest of my leave here after three days in Porto-Vecchio.”</p><p>“You’re always welcome. This is your home,” she repeated, as she had several times before. “If you’d like I could call my good friend -- she has a house in Porto-Vecchio, she spends the summer in Avignon and the winter in Corsica. I’m sure she wouldn’t mind if you stay there for a bit.”</p><p>“Thank you, Marie. I appreciate it.” He stood up, but lingered and looked down at her. “And I also appreciate your candor. You’ve given me something to think about.”</p><p>“Good.” Marie got up and started to organize the tray for the trip back to the kitchen. “I’ll go call Isabelle.”</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>The small house was sufficiently adjacent to the beaches that Deanna could walk to them, and also within walking distance of a suburb of Porto-Vecchio. Apparently it was one of the most popular places for tourists, but it wasn’t quite as busy yet as it would be in summer. Deanna opened curtains and walked around, looking at the old-fashioned furniture. The first order of business was food, she decided. The rental was equipped with a replicator and a small kitchen complete with dishes and utensils, but she had to bring her own food if she didn’t want to replicate it.</p><p>She had a few hours before sunset, so plenty of time to explore a little and get groceries. So she braided her hair, put on the plain white dress and the walking shoes, and left the house, heading down the street toward town. There were similar houses along the way, all the yards full of blooming plants -- it was spring, and the hills were green, the air crisp and smelling of the ocean. The houses all seemed to be the same, with deep red tile roofs and most of them painted white or some shade of brown. She could sense nothing disturbing around her. It put her in such a good mood she started to hum a little as she walked along.</p><p>People in the yards and walking down the lane smiled and nodded, and a few were somewhat more interested in her -- when she sensed that, she walked faster and looked away. When she reached a junction she checked the PADD she’d loaded with maps to determine where to go next. At the next intersection, she found a market, and was soon walking back to her temporary home with two bags of produce and some recipes suggested by the grocer. He’d also recommended her to a restaurant near the harbor if she decided she wanted to experience fine Corsican cuisine. It was an uneventful trip to and fro -- just what she wanted. No drama, no trauma. No possibility of being paged to the bridge, or sickbay. Her communicator was in her bedroom, in the side pocket of the case.</p><p>She sat outside on the small patio with a late lunch she made for herself, at a stone table beneath an umbrella, with a vase of flowers picked from the yard and the book she’d brought. The sea breeze on her face, the sky as blue as the Mediterranean, and absolutely no one knew where she was.</p><p>It felt wonderful.</p><p>She caught herself wondering how the captain was faring, at his childhood home with his brother’s family. He’d been determined to go, but nervous about it. He hadn’t said he didn’t know where else to go but his emotions had led her to believe that he wasn’t as comfortable with the idea as he tried to make her believe. The fact that it would be the first time he returned in more than four decades suggested as much. That he had to be grimly determined to go said that his trauma treatment was far from over.</p><p>Closing her eyes, she settled into a light meditative trance. Though she sensed people all around her they were all strangers to her. It was relatively easy to focus on herself, push away her thoughts of the captain, push away the murmur of the varied emotions of the residents of Porto-Vecchio, and be at rest.</p><p>After reaching a state of relaxation with meditation, she shoved aside the plate, opened the book, and started to read one of the more famous works of Spinoza. She hadn’t delved into philosophy in a while, particularly Terran philosophers. It seemed adequate to the task of distracting her from the last few weeks of trauma and angst.</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>Jean-Luc reached the house, a small two-bedroom home in a neighborhood within a mile of the shore, about mid-morning. He dropped the case on the bed in the master suite and wandered through the rooms, then out onto the balcony. This part of Porto-Vecchio was on a slope so he could see down the hill across the roofs of homes on the streets to the south of him. Distantly, he heard the waves crashing on the beach.</p><p>Marie’s friend had been more than happy to let him use the house, and even spent quite a bit of time telling him about sights to see and things to do. He’d decided to visit the stables, eat a meal or four at <em>A Casa Corsa Porto-Vecchio</em> near the harbor, and spend some time kayaking down the coast. He also wanted to visit Bonifacio, to see the citadel. He had such good memories of being here as a young boy, going about with friends he’d made in the neighborhood. His parents had let him go with some of them to Bonifacio for the day and he remembered standing on top of the ramparts, looking out at the sea, imagining the ships sailing in and the cannons firing. Corsican history was full of takeovers -- France, Italy, Genoa, Britain had all played a part. He intended to read more about it while he was there.</p><p>He stood for a while enjoying the onshore breeze. Wisps of cloud drifted overhead in the deep blue sky. It was, he thought, just what he needed.</p><p>Marie’s confrontation yesterday lingered on in his thoughts. It had shaken him out of the usual scripted answers he usually gave when someone he knew brought up the subject of family. He couldn’t explain why he hadn’t simply dismissed it out of hand, as he had done so many times before. Perhaps it was seeing Robert with Rene -- his bully of a brother loved the boy, indulged Rene’s fantasies of space, encouraged him to explore the world and ask questions. There was none of the small-minded rhetoric he’d parroted from their father, not any more. Robert had changed so much. And Rene’s eager questions and happy smiles as they talked led him to see that he could be at ease with children, after all.</p><p>Somewhere close, a child yelled out something in French and then there was laughter. Probably a family playing in a yard. Jean-Luc turned and went into the house. He wanted to replicate tea, get a book, put on a long-sleeved shirt against the coolness of the breeze, and sit outside and read until lunch time. Perhaps he would go for a walk down the shore in the afternoon.</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p> </p><p>On the second day of her stay, Deanna loaded a bag with food, sunscreen and a towel, found a straw hat in the entry closet, and headed down the street for the beach. It was spring, warm and sunny, and the narrow strip of sand had a scattering of people; she wandered all the way down to the end of the beach and walked onward in grass along the shore’s edge, weaving among the rocks in search of a less populated spot. There was nothing too challenging for her flimsy sandals. She found a flattish boulder near the water’s edge and draped her towel over it to make a clean place to sit. She wanted to meditate more and not think about Captain Picard.</p><p>The breeze threatened to tear the broad-brimmed straw hat from her head, so she tightened the chin strap before getting out her water bottle. As she sipped and watched the birds, enjoying the quiet, she sensed again what she hadn’t believed to be possible.</p><p>How could the captain have chosen to come here now? His hometown of LaBarre, where he’d claimed he would be, was on the mainland, to the northwest. She’d thought there would be no chance of seeing him. When she’d sensed him close yesterday she’d decided she had to be sensing him from afar because she couldn’t stop worrying about him for very long, and so she meditated for a while in hopes of banishing him from her thoughts. She’d gone to bed early, then awakened in the morning to sense again that clear whisper of his presence somewhere nearby. That was enough to prove to her that he was actually here.</p><p>Here in Porto-Vecchio, and very close to her at the moment, unfortunately. She turned to look over her shoulder, and saw him -- the only other person in view, wandering along the shore on the grass. Of all places he could be! Adjusting her hat, she faced out to sea, sipped water, and pretended he wasn’t there. He came closer, ever so slowly, and then stopped. She almost held her breath. He was standing just a dozen paces away, behind her. She sat still and kept her eyes forward.</p><p>Ah, damn. She heard his soft footfalls approach.</p><p>“Deanna?” he said, shocked.</p><p>She smiled sadly as she pivoted to look up at him. “Hi.”</p><p>“I thought -- “ he stepped up alongside the rock to see her face. “I’m sorry. I came down to stay for a few days. I had no idea you were here.”</p><p>“I came here for the beaches,” she said apologetically. “I remembered how you described it, actually, and wanted to see it. I didn’t mean to intrude.”</p><p>“No worries on that count -- I saw you here and thought you looked very familiar. I should have gone on by and not bothered you.” But he continued to stand there staring at her, in shock. She gazed up at him wondering what to say, then remembered the green wrap she’d worn to go to the beach wasn’t quite transparent, but it was obviously the only thing she was wearing.</p><p>“How are you?” she asked softly, rising to her feet to be on more even footing. “You don’t seem as depressed.”</p><p>He nodded, accepting the shift to more familiar roles of counselor and patient. “I’m still uncertain what I want to do next. But I’m not suffering flashbacks or nightmares, and I can relax at last. Being at the winery was good for me. My nephew is so eager and enthusiastic about life… I found it to be a renewing experience, to walk and talk with him.”</p><p>“I’m so glad. Are you returning to see them after your time here? Or going back to San Francisco?” She wondered if something stressful had happened with his family, that he opted to retreat here.</p><p>“I intend to go back home, yes. I felt that I needed some time to think more about my choices, and read.” He gestured at the sea, gently lapping at the shoreline. “Maybe swim, or go kayaking. Horseback riding. Work through some of the questions that I have about myself.”</p><p>Deanna crossed her arms, feeling self-conscious. This was the captain, despite his casually-half-unbuttoned shirt and modest-but-still-not-a-uniform shorts. She didn’t normally speak to him while wearing beach clothes. “Please don’t let me disrupt your time here. I’m perfectly happy to resume my meditation and pretend we didn’t see each other.”</p><p>He didn’t respond to that immediately. For a few seconds he stared at the grass, then looked up at her again. “Yes,” he said, though his emotions were saying something else. Now that they were talking he was reluctant to leave. It was a first. Though he’d come a long way from reluctant participation in counseling, he seemed to actually feel that he needed her help.</p><p>“I’m also willing to listen, if you need to talk,” she found herself saying. It set off that internal alarm that told her she was going against her own boundaries; the therapist in this situation should enforce the boundary, perhaps set up an appointment for the near future. But it was difficult for her to do so, when she knew what he’d been through, how fragile and traumatized he’d been, and how reluctant he always was to engage in therapy in the first place while they were aboard the <em>Enterprise. </em>It was as though he wanted to avoid feeling vulnerable in that setting. She’d wondered about his rigid self-control and even asked him about it, now and then. He’d been dismissive. That he actually seemed to want to talk to her now concerned her. Perhaps there was more going on that he was saying.</p><p>“I’m having what you might call an existential crisis,” he confessed. His weight shifting from one foot to the other, he half-turned as if about to keep walking south. She picked up her towel and bag, and turned with him.</p><p>“I would expect you to, after such a traumatic experience,” she said as she walked with him.</p><p>“I’m actually questioning my assumptions about myself, thanks to Marie’s reminder that I’ve been solitary in this life simply because I am afraid.”</p><p>Deanna almost stopped walking in shock. His sister-in-law had confronted him about that? And gotten him to see the fear for what it was, instead of his retreating into rationalizing it some more? “You’re afraid?”</p><p>“I must be. Because she was correct -- there are plenty of officers with successful careers who marry, or at least find intimate partners. Beverly lost her husband and continued in her own career, and even raised a child on her own -- I could only think about how much of an encumbrance a family could be and decide that I didn’t want to be forced to choose between doing my duty and staying with them. An irrational fear has been keeping me from seeing that’s a false choice, that a partner would be making it with me. And I’ve believed that I couldn’t manage a relationship for so long that I must seem silly, rigidly hanging on to that notion and running away from the possibility.”</p><p>Deanna chuckled at the calm, rational way he was speaking -- Marie must be formidable, indeed, to have succeeded in implementing this paradigm shift. But, she mused, thinking about all that the captain had said about his own mother, there had to be a reason Marie married Robert Picard, who was apparently every bit as headstrong as Jean-Luc.</p><p>“I know,” the captain said with a wry smirk, shaking his head as they meandered along the shore. “You never thought I would see it.”</p><p>“I don’t say ‘never.’ But I did expect you to be processing your experience with the Borg, rather than experiencing revelations of this nature. Are you intending to seek out the company of a particular intimate partner?”</p><p>In retrospect, it was not a question she would have asked -- not in her office anyway. She was off her game being on a shore with a captain in shorts. A more relevant question might have redirected him to allow for an assessment of his feelings about the Borg, all the better to determine his fitness for duty. She almost winced at her carelessness. But he didn’t take offense at all.</p><p>“I don’t have anyone in mind,” he said as he strolled along with his hands in his pants pockets. He seemed more relaxed now, surprisingly. “I did think for a moment about Beverly. But I don’t feel that way about her any more.”</p><p>Another shock -- she had been aware of his latent attraction to the doctor, but his casually mentioning it to her as if they’d discussed it openly was a surprise. Deanna stuffed the towel in the bag and tucked it under her arm.</p><p>“It’s been a long time since I’ve even thought about anything casual, let alone a relationship,” he said thoughtfully.</p><p>“Risa?” He had met someone there. He’d admitted that much in sessions later.</p><p>He snorted at it. “Well. That was an aberration.”</p><p>“I had the impression that you found her quite attractive.”</p><p>“Yes, and no. It -- she -- it wouldn’t work,” he sputtered, gesturing with a hand. “It was just one of those shore leave things… it was Risa.”</p><p>Deanna looked away at the water, to collect herself. He seemed so caught up in this new idea of being able to find someone and have a relationship he’d been denying himself for most of his life. She spent a moment being happy that a friend she was genuinely fond of was finally showing signs of being open to real relationships. Then the therapist instinct kicked in, and she began to question what it was really about. She knew such radical paradigm changes were often responses to life-altering trauma, and not necessarily something that would ‘stick.’</p><p>“This seems like such a sudden change of mind,” she said, turning to look at him again as they continued to putter along, weaving slowly among the rocks. A few seagulls flew low overhead and out to sea.</p><p>“It doesn’t feel like one,” he said. “I thought I would die. Then I thought I would certainly never recover, even though the implants were removed. I questioned whether I would be able to continue as captain as the <em>Enterprise</em>, and then I questioned whether I wanted to… and since last week, I am questioning whether I might be better off leaving Starfleet. My friend Louis offered me a position with his project here on Earth, and it feels like a possibility. It feels now as though I have nothing but possibilities! And I think about the resolve I had before, and wonder why I don’t feel it now, and what that means.”</p><p>“You said you went through a period of ambivalence before, when you lost the <em>Stargazer</em> and were unsure about continuing in Starfleet. You took an extended leave of absence. Is that what you’re considering again, taking more leave? You’re considering some radical changes to your life, it seems you want to take the time to think it all through.”</p><p>They had wandered along a small peninsula, and at the end there was a sandy area, extending into shallows toward a towering stone pinnacle in the water. He stopped at the edge of the grass and put his hands on his hips, staring out at the sea. Birds were circling and some were landing on ledges on the pinnacle, or on top of it.</p><p>“I don’t know,” he said at last. “Which is why I’m here. While I was at the winery it started to feel comfortable. I didn’t expect that. Marie is absolutely wonderful. Intelligent, strong-willed -- she keeps the house in exactly the same manner our mother did, but she had a career in teaching before. And watching Robert with his son and wife made me start to wonder if I found the right person I might be able to have a family as well as a rewarding career, whether in Starfleet or in the civilian sector.”</p><p>Deanna could tell as he spoke that he found his brother’s wife attractive. He had a ‘type,’ and she suspected intelligent and strong-willed were the top two most desired characteristics. She crossed her arms again, this time because the breeze picked up a little and started to blow her gauzy wrap open. Her bag dropped to the grass since she forgot to put the strap over her shoulder.</p><p>Leaning, he picked it up and without a thought put the strap on his shoulder, letting it hang at his side along with the one he carried. It reminded her that they were both supposed to be on vacation, and not engaged in this pseudo-therapy. She smiled at him, which got his attention.</p><p>“We’re supposed to be on leave. If you want, we can meet a few times since we’re both here -- making you start over with a different counselor isn’t necessary, and it seems you would benefit from a few sessions while you’re off duty, to help you sort out whether you want to return to Starfleet. My rental is on the Corniche San Giorgio -- I can contact you since I brought my badge, I neglected to memorize the exact address.”</p><p>“Of course,” he said at once, backing a step and swinging her bag off his shoulder again. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have presumed.”</p><p>“Come tomorrow for lunch, if you wish. I’ll call you in the morning.” She took her bag and hung it from her right shoulder this time.</p><p>“You’re sure you want me to do that? I’ve already taken too much of your time. After all that you’ve done for me, you deserve the time off,” he said, smiling warmly at her.</p><p>“It’s fine, Captain. If you want to talk, we can talk. I’m happy to help.”</p><p>“Thank you, Counselor. I realize it may come as a shock but I’ve come to value your assistance, and your listening ear. I hope you enjoy the rest of your day.” He turned away, realized they still stood on the narrow peninsula, and shrugged a little in embarrassment. She waited while he walked along the shore until he could continue in the direction they’d been going.</p><p>Deanna sighed, turning back toward the beaches. Perhaps now that she had a plan to check in with him and help him with a little career counseling and monitor his progress in processing the trauma, she could spend the rest of her time actually relaxing instead of trying not to wonder how he was doing. He’d taken her referrals to counselors in San Francisco just in case he needed them while on leave, but clearly wasn’t availing himself of that option.</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p> </p><p>Jean-Luc found a guidebook on the shelf of the full bookcase in the second bedroom, and sat down on the balcony with it, along with a third cup of coffee. Breakfast had been simple as ever; the replicator had plenty of options, but he stuck with the usual. He made sure he had his comm badge on his shirt before sitting down.</p><p>He remembered his parents talking about taking him and Robert hiking. Maman had argued about safety, Papa had argued healthy adventures outdoors together, it had come to an impasse and ultimately, they’d gone on a series of day trips, returning to the house at night instead of backpacking one of the routes on the island. Perhaps hiking would be less strenuous than kayaking. Last night, after returning from the long walk down the coastline, he’d been a little more tired than he’d been at home, taking walks around the winery and the vineyard. Kayaking was more strenuous and it was more difficult to stop and rest, if the sea was restless and he needed to paddle against the tide for any duration. On a hike he could stop and rest often.</p><p>He read about the Fra li Monte, a hiking route through the mountains from Calenzana to Conca. It sounded like an epic trip, typically done in thirteen to fifteen days, and the isolation of it and the length appealed to him. But he knew he wasn’t up to it. Perhaps a shorter trip from Conca to Col de Bavella -- there was a road as well as a hiking trail, and an auberge to stop for a meal. He could walk and if it became too difficult it would be easy to summon help. Beverly would hopefully approve of that compromise. After all the surgeries she’d lectured him sternly about taking it easy, taking it slow, with an emphasis on slow.</p><p>His badge chirped, interrupting his reading about the town of Conca and the surrounding area. He tapped it automatically. “Picard here.”</p><p>“Good morning, Captain. How are you doing today?”</p><p>“Fine, fine. I’ve been doing a little research about opportunities to go hiking. You know… I really am doing well enough that I can be fine without interrupting your own vacation. It’s generous of you to offer your services but it’s truly not necessary. Please enjoy your time here, I’ll contact you at the end of your leave.”</p><p>A pause. “Are you sure, Captain?”</p><p>“Certainty eludes me, generally. But I don’t want to impose.”</p><p>“You should come to lunch just the same, as a friend. I have after all done my best with the ragout. I need your feedback to know if it’s at all authentic.”</p><p>It stunned him speechless. Had she actually cooked for him? “Thank you,” he said, closing the guidebook. “I can be there in half an hour, I believe.”</p><p>It took him a little more than that to walk the distance to her house, and when he arrived he could smell the meal from the front walk. The door was open, and as he stepped into the tiled foyer, he heard humming and followed it the short distance through the living room to the smaller dining room and around the corner into the kitchen.</p><p>She was at the stove stirring, and glanced at him. “Come taste it. Tell me if it needs anything.” She raised the ladle as he approached and obediently sipped.</p><p>“That’s a little spicier than I expected,” he exclaimed, trying not to overreact.</p><p>“Maybe I got a little carried away. Would you like me to replicate something else?”</p><p>“I didn’t say it isn’t good. It reminds me a little of a Bajoran dish,” he said, glancing at some of the spice containers sitting on the counter next to the stove. “Some bread to go with it, perhaps?”</p><p>Deanna laughed, brushing her frizzy hair back behind her left ear. “Will was right, cooking isn’t as easy as it looks. If you’re feeling adventurous let’s give it a try, but remember I won’t be offended if you want to replicate something else.”</p><p>They were caught up for a bit in the logistics of the meal, setting the table, and replicating some bread and drinks. Once he settled across the table from her, he found himself feeling ill at ease. It wasn’t his habit to sit down with a subordinate at a table, out of uniform, and especially not with a beautiful female officer.</p><p>It was ridiculous. He’d had many conversations with her, usually while preparing for a mission or post-mission, that had nothing to do with counseling or Starfleet. In fact, if he tallied up his informal chats with crew, he suspected most of them had been with her.</p><p>Deanna poured a little wine in his glass, seeming quite at ease, though she likely sensed his discomfort. She sat down, shook out the linen napkin, placed it in her lap, and finally looked at him. “Here we go,” she exclaimed, as if launching them on a great adventure.</p><p>“Should I call a red alert?”</p><p>“Maybe after a few bites.”</p><p>It wasn’t so bad, he decided after a few spoonfuls. The white wine went well with it. “I’ve been looking into hiking in the mountains near Conca. I may go up tomorrow. Return late in the evening. Any interest in going with me?”</p><p>He wasn’t prepared for the surprise in her eyes. After a moment’s consideration, she said, “Are you sure you want me to come?”</p><p>“It’s only a hike.”</p><p>“I had intended to hike while I’m here, so I’d like that. But you seemed to want to spend your leave on your own.”</p><p>“Yes,” he replied, nodding. “I did say that. And you can say no. I would appreciate the company of a friend.”</p><p>She sighed and started eating again. “You don’t want to disrupt my leave with counseling, but you ask me to go hiking for a day with you.”</p><p>“Yes,” he said.</p><p>“Captain,” she chided softly. “Please tell me how you feel about your experience with the Borg.”</p><p>Jean-Luc knew what she was doing. She wanted to know what he was avoiding, by refusing to participate in counseling. “I simply don’t want to spend the time talking about assimilation and the Borg. I’d like to enjoy walking and possibly talking with a friend, but if you don’t wish to join me, I’ll settle for the walking.”</p><p>She ate quietly for a moment. Then said, “The book you loaned me is interesting enough. I have questions about Spinoza, however. Why you recommended me to a book written more than five hundred years ago, for starters.”</p><p>“What did you think?”</p><p>“Of Spinoza? He has some interesting things to say. I can see why you like him.”</p><p>“I do?” Jean-Luc reached for his napkin.</p><p>“The highest activity a human being can attain is learning for understanding, because to understand is to be free.”</p><p>Jean-Luc hesitated, trying to remember that particular quotation and its context. “I could agree with that statement for the most part.”</p><p>“My impression of him from his work is that he’s a philosopher glancing off the surface of psychology. How about this one - ‘Indulge yourself in pleasures only in so far as they are necessary for the preservation of health.’”</p><p>“Really? But that’s what you tell me,” he exclaimed.</p><p>“Not exactly. That may be what you hear, when I tell you to take time off and spend time relaxing,” she said with that amused, fond smile she sometimes gave him. “I intend to indulge in pleasures more than the bare minimum necessary for my health, thank you. I think Spinoza must have lived in an era when no one was really having much fun.”</p><p>“The 1600s were very different, true. The life expectancy was much lower and the culture much different.”</p><p>Deanna swept up another spoonful of her ragout. “What time period is Porto-Vecchio simulating? It’s quaint. I like the farmers in the fields.”</p><p>“I think generally pre-industrial, though there are certainly computers in the homes and some degree of automation in many industries. You know, this really isn’t that bad. Maybe not traditional ragout but not bad.”</p><p>Deanna’s sarcastic smirk suggested she didn’t quite believe him. “Thank you. Do you want anything else? I think I’ll have a little more wine.” She reached for the bottle and poured a little in her near-empty glass, then extended it over to put the last of the wine in his glass.</p><p>“No, thank you. With the bread and stew I’ve eaten more than I typically do for lunch. Between you and Marie, I’m going to put on a lot of weight.”</p><p>“Marie is likely a much better cook. So, this hike -- how long is it, and how steep?”</p><p>“It’s about ten miles from one end to the other. There’s a steady climb, if we start at Conca. If we start at the top it's downhill.”</p><p>“And good views without turning around a lot?”</p><p>“A fair point.”</p><p>“Can you walk for ten miles?”</p><p>He frowned, but that too was fair. She’d seen him through the worst of his recovery, after all. She spoke with quiet concern as well -- it made it difficult to snap at her for suggesting he couldn’t do it. And she patiently waited for him to answer, eating the stew slowly and watching him with serious eyes.</p><p>“If I feel fatigued, we can turn around, cut the hike short, and go have a latte before returning to Porto-Vecchio,” he said with a wilting smile.</p><p>“I’m glad you’re being careful. It’s always hard in the recovery process to stay the course. It’s so tempting to push yourself too hard when you’re feeling better.”</p><p>“Yes, that’s true. And this isn’t like any other recovery process I’ve been through. No doubt I have more of those messages piling up while I’m off duty, from people wanting to interview me. Admiral Hanson contacted me before I left LaBarre to see how I was doing, likely anticipating they might have to replace me.” He glanced up at her, after dipping the spoon in his bowl, and hesitated in taking the next bite. “Do you think they’ll decide to do that, if I try to go back?”</p><p>She gazed steadily at him. Her expression was hard to read. He didn’t doubt they’d been asking her questions about him. “I haven’t heard anything that would lead me to believe they’ve made any decisions -- the admiral and I spoke the day you left the ship. I told him I would forward my clinical opinion of your progress in my completed assessment, which I finished the following day. He didn’t contact me in the following three days so I assume he’s waiting until I forward the assessment we’ll have when you come back from leave, should you decide to return to Starfleet.”</p><p>“I hope your assessment is favorable, either way. I hope that I’m not damaged permanently.”</p><p>“You have no worries about that, I think.” She was back to laughing with her eyes, smiling, nodding. “Dr. Crusher agrees with me that you’ve made a rapid recovery. It’s a credit to her medical acumen, and to your resilience.” Some of her mirth went away again, as she said it. She knew how he’d struggled back to sanity.</p><p>“”So. Are you willing to give the hike a try?”</p><p>“I have walking shoes. I think I can find some clothing this afternoon that will be more appropriate than what I’ve brought. What time do you want to start? I assume early.”</p><p>“We can use the public transporter to Conca, and have breakfast there before starting up the trail.” Jean-Luc pushed the bowl away and picked up his napkin to wipe his lips. “I was planning to go to the local museum this afternoon. It’s small, but the history of the area is fascinating.”</p><p>“I assume we’ll carry some food and gear? What’s your packing list?”</p><p>They spent a little time discussing the route, the essentials for a full day of hiking, and when Deanna started to collect dishes, he stood to help move them into the kitchen, where they were fed into the replicator to be recycled. He stood back and found himself suddenly adrift. They weren’t on the ship. They weren’t in session. He realized what he’d already known, that the friendship he had with her was only there in the moments between the other two roles, when they slipped out of the official into the informal. That it was a byproduct of how he had shaped his life, focusing more and more on duty and less on the personal until he was actually uncomfortable in social settings without the framework of duty. And now he was starting to think he wanted more than that, with people. His brother was happier than he’d ever been when they were children, and people in his community respected and got along with him just fine. Watching Robert talk with a neighbor over the back wall, going to the village with him for a pint at the bar, made Jean-Luc see the deficits in his own life.</p><p>“Captain?” she asked, encapsulating the issue neatly in one word.</p><p>“Nothing.”</p><p>As usual, she respected his choice not to elaborate. But her serious expression said she knew it wasn’t nothing. “Thank you for helping me clean up.”</p><p>“It was no trouble. I’ll be off -- I’m going to the market. Pick up a few things for tomorrow.”</p><p>“Good. Maybe I’ll see you out and about. I’m going to spend some time meditating and do the same later today.” Her easy smile returned.</p><p>“So, we’ll meet at the public transporter in town at five hundred hours?”</p><p>“I’ll see you there.”</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p> </p><p>Deanna woke with the gentle tones she’d programmed into the house computer and rolled over, groaning. It took sheer force of will to pull herself out of the warm bed and into the shower. She flipped it to sonics to be quicker. The house was a little chilly at night.</p><p>This would be an adventure for her diary. But the captain’s current state of mind had his emotions all over the place. Clearly, he was going through a lot of negotiations in his thoughts, sorting himself out, and she was starting to be concerned.</p><p>It occurred to her as she put on her jacket and finished the cup of coffee she’d replicated that she needed to sort out what she was doing with him. If it was a friendly adventure, or a therapeutic one. It was always her responsibility to hold that boundary between the therapeutic and the casual friendship; most therapists could do that easily, but it was harder when she worked with most of her clients on a mobile space-faring community. Her own social needs tended to be set aside, thanks to the thorny boundary issues between therapists and clients. Lately her only close friends were Will and Beverly, by default, since Will would never be her client due to their previous intimate relationship and Beverly was technically her supervisor.</p><p>There were other issues with those two, however. Both of them considered the captain a close friend. And the chief medical officer was charged with his health as well. Deanna knew how each of them felt about Captain Picard, and knew how difficult his loss to the Borg had been for them. But it was easier for them to navigate back and forth from friend to professional than it was for her.</p><p>She decided, as she put some snacks in the pack she’d replicated, that today she would try to just go along with him and not think clinically if she could help it. Being concerned about his mental health constantly wouldn’t make either of them happy. In the foyer she shrugged into the jacket she’d chosen and opened the door; a blast of chilly night air nearly made her close it again, but she strode out and shut it behind her instead, opting for purposeful movement and holding the front of the coat closed tightly to warm herself.</p><p>Deanna took a wrong turn twice, so was a few minutes late arriving at the transporter terminal. Lamps over the console illuminated the sole person waiting there. Jean-Luc stood with his hands in his coat pockets, a small pack on his back, and as she stepped up on the platform with him, he smiled at her.</p><p>And it was not at all like the controlled, subdued smiles he’d had before, with her. The happiness radiating from him was a first. Perhaps he hadn’t expected her to actually come with him? She nodded and turned to look at the panel, at the menus and options. Seeing that he’d already set it to Conca, she nodded again. “Sure you want to do this?”</p><p>“Are you?” Amusement tinged his voice as he tapped the green patch on the console, then turned toward the transporter platform.</p><p>Deanna stepped up beside him and gripped the edges of her coat as the transporter sent them on their way.</p><p>Conca was smaller than Porto-Vecchio, and he led off confidently -- probably had the map memorized. “There’s a cafe down here on the corner.”</p><p>“An open one?”</p><p>It was, and there was a lone barista behind the counter, only two customers in the corner at a small table. Jean-Luc dropped his pack on the floor as he sat down, and Deanna did the same. They ordered croissants and coffee, and she ate her first breakfast with Captain Picard while the sun rose over Corsica.</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>He stopped to lean forward and inhale deeply. The steep, narrow trail continued upward through the woods. At the top of a switchback sixty paces ahead of him, Deanna slowly walked on, the straps of her pack gripped in her fingers, her long ponytail dangling from beneath the broad-brimmed hat she wore.</p><p>Jean-Luc straightened and walked on, step by laborious step. His legs were heavy and his chest tight. But that had been true for the past mile and more. He resisted checking the time. It felt like it’d been all day, but he suspected they had only been walking for less than two hours. The sun still angled down through the trees and there was still a slight chill in the air, if he wasn’t working hard enough to keep himself warm. The long-sleeved shirt was breathable by design, but the slight breeze could cut through it like a cold knife. He’d put the coat in his pack shortly after starting the hike.</p><p>“Are you all right?” Deanna’s voice came down from the switchback above.</p><p>He had to stop to answer. “I’m doing fine. Slow, but fine.”</p><p>“If you say so,” she replied.</p><p>“I didn’t say I was comfortable,” he exclaimed. “Just fine.”</p><p>He was glad that she didn’t suggest turning around. By the time she stopped so he could catch up, he was ready to take a break. She waited at the end of one of the switchbacks, looking at a view through the trees. The rooftops of one of Conca’s neighborhoods were visible through the leaves. Blue sky for miles, and in the far distance he thought the ocean might be visible.</p><p>“It’s so beautiful,” she said distantly, gazing down.</p><p>“It is,” he agreed, doing his best not to sound out of breath.</p><p>She looked down, raising a PADD he hadn’t noticed in her hand, and stared at the screen for a moment. Then gave him an amused look.</p><p>“Half a mile?”</p><p>“More than a mile, but it’s been two hours of struggling,” she said gently. “Maybe we should sit here for a moment or two, and let you think about the next eight and a half miles?” She gestured at the rock wall some thoughtful trail crew had built to shore up the slope above the turn.</p><p>He perched on the edge of the wall carefully, more of a lean than a sit, and she sidled over to do the same. Then pushed herself back and actually sat, letting her feet dangle. He stubbornly kept leaning, the damp rock bleeding cold through the seat of his trousers.</p><p>“Maybe,” he began, then spent a moment considering carefully the way he felt. “Maybe this was too ambitious a plan.”</p><p>The pleasant smile dwindled. She seemed to appraise him for a moment. “We could hike to the first road crossing and call for transport.”</p><p>“You know what this means,” he said.</p><p>“I do?”</p><p>“I wouldn’t pass the physical requirements for active duty.”</p><p>Deanna turned from putting her PADD in her pack, letting the pack slide down to rest on the dirt at her feet. “Perhaps not immediately, but you’re still recovering, and Starfleet understands that. You know… I’ve always had the impression that you believe you could do anything you set your mind to, but I’m starting to wonder if you think differently now.”</p><p>Was this the counselor or the friend? “True. I’ve been through this before. However, this is the first time it feels like an insurmountable task.”</p><p>That put a furrow in her brow. “It does?”</p><p>“We talked about this before I left the ship.”</p><p>“I thought we weren’t doing any counseling on this hike?”</p><p>Jean-Luc looked up at the sky, so very blue and free of clouds. “That’s not what we’re doing. I was merely pointing out that you know how hopeless I felt. And while I don’t feel hopeless now, it’s difficult to imagine how long and how difficult it will be to get back into shape. It’s harder each time I have to recover. And I’m not sure it’s worth it.”</p><p>“You seem to think in circles about this.” Deanna waved a finger around in the air.</p><p>“Negotiating with myself.”</p><p>She chuckled, shaking her head. “You’re not making much progress.”</p><p>“My own worst enemy,” he commented.</p><p>“It’s difficult to be objective with personal choices. Quite understandable that you would struggle with this choice, in spite of the fact that you could change directions easily any time, should you choose and then want to change again.”</p><p>Jean-Luc snorted at that. “I’m limiting myself too much out of anxiety?”</p><p>“Perhaps.”</p><p>“I always knew what I wanted. I did waver for a while after the <em>Stargazer</em> but I knew deep down that I would be back in Starfleet. But the longer I’m here, the less resolve I feel -- it’s unsettling.”</p><p>Deanna nodded and kept looking down at her boots. She seemed to be thinking. Jean-Luc watched her face; today her makeup was minimal, her hair less controlled. The pony tail was loose, some strands escaping to fly up around her head like a halo. After a few minutes her eyes swept up to meet his, and she gazed into his eyes in a way he rarely experienced. They were just inches apart, sitting there against the stone wall. He was accustomed to being seated across from her -- over his desk, across her office, across the table in the observation lounge.</p><p>“You’ll be all right,” she said after a brief period of eye contact.</p><p>“Oh.”</p><p>“What did you expect me to say?” She chuckled again. “You don’t want me to be your counselor today.”</p><p>“I’m curious why you think I’ll be all right. I’m not at all certain of it, myself.”</p><p>“I’m curious as to why you feel it’s a prerequisite to making a decision. I’ve observed that you often feel certainty after making a decision, instead.”</p><p>He laughed, which led to realizing he’d finally caught his breath enough to do so. His chest had stopped hurting, but his leg muscles still ached like a memory of all the work he’d just done to get there. “That’s true. I do feel better once a matter is resolved.”</p><p>“Do you want to continue hiking? Or turn around and go back?”</p><p>“I would like to go on for a bit longer. I seem to remember a bench and an overlook?”</p><p>She stood and waited, until he recognized she wanted him to go first. As they set out walking she shouldered her pack and followed him instead of going ahead. She kept a distance of a few paces between them, intentionally tailing him up the trail. It was frustrating but he said nothing, pushed himself onward until once more his chest started to burn. The overlook he’d noted on the map eventually appeared ahead of them at the end of a switchback, and the last few paces he really worked to lengthen his strides and reach it without faltering. He sat heavily, leaving enough space for her, and she joined him a moment later and waited silently for him to catch his breath and speak.</p><p>The valley far below was a patchwork of cultivated fields and patches of trees, the occasional roof showing in the greenery. A small river wound through on its way to the sea. He closed his eyes as the breeze caressed his face.</p><p>They sat quietly for a while. Deanna seemed happy to do so. He glanced at her after a time and found her sitting with closed eyes, perhaps meditating. So he thought about living on Earth, perhaps in LaBarre -- being grounded, possibly working with Louis on his Atlantis project, or finding some other series of pursuits to occupy his time. Writing a memoir had a certain appeal. Traveling as an archaeologist did also. There were active expeditions across the Alpha Quadrant that would welcome the help.</p><p>The <em>Enterprise</em> in orbit high above them remained in his thoughts, however. The work they did was unique and important. The encounter with the Borg was a reminder that the galaxy was much bigger than the Federation, and more challenges awaited -- would he be able to sit still while Starfleet went on without him?</p><p>He sighed loudly, reached down into his open pack, and hefted the water bottle, pulling the cap open to drink. Two swallows and it was empty. He had a second full one in the pack, but dropped the empty one back in then turned his attention to the view once more.</p><p>“I’m tempted,” Deanna said quietly. “Earth feels like a peaceful place to be. Even after the Borg nearly invaded.”</p><p>“You’re thinking of staying?”</p><p>“Why not? I could live in a small village like Conca. I’m good with languages, I’m already picking up a little French.”</p><p>He looked at her again, and she was looking at him. “Maybe we could be next door neighbors.”</p><p>“It’s possible.”</p><p>“Are you really thinking about this?”</p><p>“I’ve either been on Betazed or in Starfleet. It would be interesting to live on Earth. I’ve thought about it before.”</p><p>“You have?” It led him to realize that she hadn’t said much about her own aspirations or goals. She’d talked about her mother, and her past at times. Not about her plans for the future. “Not staying in Starfleet?”</p><p>“I’m open to other possibilities. What is it Terrans say… the sky’s the limit? Only that doesn’t really apply any longer, does it? If you’re in Starfleet the limit is farther away.”</p><p>“That’s an unusual stance for an officer to have.”</p><p>She smiled, one eyebrow crawling upward. “It would be an unusual stance to voice to a commanding officer. One’s counselor, on the other hand, would be just the person to say it to, since it’s confidential and wouldn’t be misconstrued as a lack of dedication to Starfleet and duty.”</p><p>“When did we agree I was the counselor for the day?” he asked, chuckling.</p><p>“It’s also something one might tell a trusted friend, isn’t it?” Deanna glanced again at the view, then turned back to him. “Do we want to start back down? We might be back in Conca for lunch.”</p><p>Jean-Luc took stock and sadly agreed. “Sorry I’m not as fit as I felt I was,” he said, shrugging.</p><p>“I can’t fault your optimism. We can say we got some exercise and saw some lovely scenery. It really is beautiful.”</p><p>Their heads both turned at the sound of voices, several switchbacks below them. As he watched two young men came into view through the foliage, trudging up around a turn in the trail. Deanna waited with him as the hikers approached, finally reaching them. Jean-Luc tensed, anticipating, but only one of the men spared him a glance before passing by -- his companion commented on the steepness of the trail in French, which led to a sarcastic remark from his friend. It was nice to know even the young men thought it was difficult.</p><p>When the pair were two switchbacks above, Jean-Luc stood up, dusting off his pants, sending bits of moss and soil flying. Deanna picked up her pack and slung it over her shoulder as she dropped off the stone wall to her feet. She didn’t seem to be at all tired.</p><p>“You’re not even winded.”</p><p>“I was for a bit. It’s been a nice break. You’re feeling better?”</p><p>“Well enough to start the descent. Shall we?”</p><p>It was easier to walk together, as downhill was so much less taxing than uphill. As they ambled side by side, he caught himself wondering why she had gone along with his plans, and feeling a little guilty again that he’d disrupted her own.</p><p>“Thank you for asking me to come with you. I’m enjoying the hike,” she said.</p><p>“Thank you for not holding it against me, that I dragged you along.”</p><p>She laughed at that, and surprised him by leaning and nudging him with an elbow. “Yes, I can tell you’re regretting it, but it wasn’t much of an imposition. I planned to do a little hiking. I simply hadn’t chosen a destination. Perhaps it wouldn’t have been as steep, but I appreciated the challenge.”</p><p>“I shall accept this as truth,” he said. “Even if I suspect you are letting me off the hook.”</p><p>“How diplomatic of you.”</p><p>This was something that happened once in a while, in odd moments; they would be preparing for some diplomatic endeavor and take a break to eat something, and rather than small talk they would find some humor in the situation. He appreciated that she didn’t subject him to small talk, which he found tedious. She seemed fine with moments of silence, as well.</p><p>“Are you honestly thinking about leaving Starfleet?”</p><p>Deanna grimaced - he caught a fleeting second of the expression, as he glanced her way. “I do occasionally imagine what else I might do. Sometimes, as much as I enjoy my work, I find myself wondering.”</p><p>“Is there something happening that leads you to think this way?”</p><p>They walked quietly for a bit while he waited for the answer, which in itself made him think that was the case. “Things happen,” she said softly. “You remember the near-miss marriage I almost had?”</p><p>“The Millers, yes.”</p><p>“I didn’t want to leave with Wyatt, but I did think it might be possible to thrive, if I did. I think about the risks sometimes. Spending time with the children aboard, especially after something happens that threatens the entire ship and then they react to that, it tempers the excitement of the adventure. It reminds me how good we are, at adapting to extreme risk. It makes me question my choices at times.”</p><p>Something he had thought about before and then stopped remembering while on the bridge -- the emotional impact on the hundreds of people on the decks below the bridge, whenever he made a decision to self-destruct, or send the ship into battle. Setting that out of his thoughts enabled him to act on behalf of the Federation. He wondered though, now, in the aftermath of assimilation, if he could continue to do so. If the Borg had assimilated the entire crew, they would all be dead now. He would still be Locutus, and everyone on Earth might have been part of the Collective along with them.</p><p>And then he thought about what it was like, being a junior officer, and hearing about the captain being injured. He remembered times his own commanding officers had been injured or killed. He knew too that his own senior staff had been impacted by seeing him become Locutus, and by his struggle to recover; the times they’d visited him, they’d been too careful, too soft-spoken, too full of sympathy.</p><p>“How did the crew react to my assimilation?”</p><p>She stopped walking. He did too, turning toward her, watching her face.</p><p>“I confess that I was not involved in debriefing crew,” she said at last. “Nor have I been helping the other counselors with the families. I haven’t heard anything that suggests anyone is in crisis.”</p><p>“How are you? Tell me the truth. Friend to friend.” She’d already given him the flat ‘fine’ non-answer, when he’d asked before.</p><p>Her face went from guarded to weary, with the request. “I’ve been very tired.”</p><p>“And?”</p><p>For a few seconds it seemed she would return to dismissive, because that’s what the counselor did, if he tried to ask directly after her welfare. He understood the reasons, but this was one of those cases where one of his officers had been affected by his own difficulties. Deanna seemed to sense that he wanted the honest answer, no matter what; she gazed at him solemnly as they stood there in the trail.</p><p>“What you went through was difficult to witness,” she said softly. “I did meet with a counselor a few times. Before I went on leave. I didn’t sleep well for a few nights, while you were going through the worst of your recovery.”</p><p>“I don’t know if I want you to be my counselor any more,” he said, without thinking about it much. But it resonated, and the words came freely as he went on. “I think that I would rather you were an officer and friend,without the extra layer complicating things.”</p><p>A moment of anguish flashed on her face. A forced smile tipped her lips into a slight curve. “If that’s what you wish. It can be arranged.”</p><p>“Good.”</p><p>But she didn’t look happy, or at least accepting; he thought the wrinkle in her brow hinted at confusion, or possibly irritation. He waited, thumbs tucked behind the shoulder straps of his pack, elbows dangling.</p><p>“You feel that I can’t be your counselor and your officer?” she asked at last.</p><p>“Well… I….”</p><p>When he couldn’t continue, she guessed. “Or is it that you feel I can’t be your friend and your counselor? I really can’t. That’s true.”</p><p>“But you are.”</p><p>Deanna started to walk at last. He matched her pace, shortening his strides slightly. “Then I suppose I’m not your counselor now? Odd, as it seems to me I had a session with you just last week.”</p><p>“So you don’t think we’re friends?”</p><p>“It’s not ethical for a psychologist to take a friend as a client, or vice versa. Possible - but it’s considered to be less effective, less therapeutic. We’ve only ever spent time together professionally, and occasional less formal occasions with the rest of the senior staff. Are you suggesting that you would like more than that?”</p><p>“I wasn’t aware that being friends with a counselor required formal declarations,” he replied with a chagrined smirk.</p><p>“I have to be very clear about boundaries with clients. I’m only looking out for your best interests.”</p><p>“So this, today, is a professional endeavor for you.”</p><p>“Not entirely. I’m currently treading ever closer to danger, hiking down this trail with a superior officer who is my client without the framework of official business -- we’re not on an away mission, in my office, or your ready room. But you’re not following through with referrals, instead you’re here alone in Corsica, and as an officer who’s watched you get into trouble while on your own away from the ship, I felt it might be better not to leave you unsupervised.” Her hint of a smile suggested he was being teased, ever so carefully.</p><p>“Well. Thank you for your consideration for my safety.”</p><p>They reached the next turn, as they slowly descended, and Deanna stopped to swing her pack off her shoulder and pull out her water bottle. “You’re disappointed.”</p><p>“You insisted not so many sessions ago, before the encounter with the Borg, that I consider the ramifications of loneliness on my mental health.” The loneliness had previously been something he’d denied, as he lived his solitary life and insisted to himself that it was necessary.</p><p>“I might have mentioned that a therapist is helpful, but not ultimately the best solution to the problem.” She raised the bottle to her mouth again.</p><p>“Yes. And yet, I feel friendship, where other counselors were merely counselors.”</p><p>“Feelings -- “</p><p>“Occasionally lie, yes. I know.”</p><p>Deanna shouldered her pack once more, and they were off again, strolling down the next switchback. “It’s not unusual for clients to feel an intimacy with the therapist they misinterpret as friendship, or more. It doesn’t mean the therapist reciprocates, or that the feelings will last.”</p><p>He hiked on with her and thought about that further. At the next turn, he came to a conclusion and shook his head as they rounded the corner to descend to the next switchback.</p><p>“What is it?”</p><p>Jean-Luc sighed. “I’m curious.”</p><p>“Of course you are. It’s why you’re in Starfleet.”</p><p>He snorted at the flippant response. “Yes, but more immediately relevant, what you were saying about counselors and friends… what would happen if you decided you wanted to be more than friends with a former client?”</p><p>She halted abruptly and stared at him, eyes wide.</p><p>“I’m <em>curious</em>, that’s all. It’s never occurred to me that there would be a prohibition but your mention of a sort of ethic about friends and therapists made me wonder.”</p><p>That led to a roll of her eyes -- an expression he’d seen her make only when her mother was at her most outrageous. “Yes, that’s prohibited. There’s a lengthy waiting period proscribed, between cessation of treatment and the beginning of an intimate relationship. If that’s what the two intend. I’ve never heard of anyone actually doing that.”</p><p>“So if I -- “</p><p>“Oh,<em> please</em>,” she blurted. With another eyeroll, she strode off. Making it clear she’d been idling along; the pace she set in her ire was difficult for him to match. After another switchback she slowed again, having mercy on him.</p><p>“Sorry,” he gasped, out of breath as he caught up. After he caught his breath a few paces later, he went on. “I had no idea you were so opposed.”</p><p>“To such a violation of my own ethics? Of course.”</p><p>“Then it’s about your ethics and not at all about me?”</p><p>She gave him such a look -- one part disdain, two parts rigidly-suppressed amusement -- and kept her eyes focused forward as she walked. “I’m not commenting on you at all. Please don’t assume that. I’m surprised you’re even pursuing this line of questioning.”</p><p>“Curiosity, as you say, is part of my nature.”</p><p>They walked onward, silent, and Jean-Luc thought about the conversation. On the last switchback at the bottom of the ridge, the trail leveled off, gradually turning through the fields and heading back into the village of Conca. Deanna stopped walking in the shade of a large maple, to drink more water. He pulled off the pack to do the same.</p><p>When she turned to him, he automatically looked at her, and was stunned by her serious expression. She gazed into his eyes and seemed to want his full attention. After a moment, she asked, “How do you feel about me?”</p><p>That caught him off guard -- perhaps her intent. “Fine,” he blurted, then scrambled for composure. “I mean, I feel what I would feel for any of my friends.”</p><p>That seemed to be satisfactory. She stuffed her bottle back in her pack and started for the village. He followed, thankful for the flatter trail.</p><p>“If it changes I’ll let you know,” he said, trying to be humorous. He knew she would sense any such change probably before he was fully registering it himself.</p><p>“I’m trying to decide whether you were testing to see if I might be open to it, or whether this is part of your process of rethinking that hard stance you’ve had about relationships.”</p><p>“I don’t have an agenda. I’m sorry if I gave you that impression.”</p><p>As they reached the trailhead at the road, they could smell something cooking -- there were homes nearby in the trees, down the country lane. Deanna smiled and turned to him as if the awkward conversation hadn’t happened. “We can stop for lunch before going back to Porto-Vecchio?”</p><p>“Yes. I’m hungry, and the handful of snacks I have in the pack won’t do. Shall we?” He gestured toward Conca, and they strolled off down the lane. It wasn’t far.</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p> </p><p>Deanna returned to her rented house in the middle of the afternoon, having left the captain at his own rental. She decided she deserved a nap.</p><p>The hiking hadn’t been difficult. Nor had lunch, once they’d reached Conca and found a cafe. But the captain -- he was in quite a state, emotionally. It had led to a tense conversation, once she’d put her foot down and refused to engage in the discussion he had been attempting to have. She was sure he had no real feelings for her; it had been curiosity, as he’d said. Otherwise it would have been a very different conversation.</p><p>She walked around opening windows so the sea breeze would blow through. As she pulled the band from her hair and brushed it out, she sat on the bed. It was so different from her own aboard the ship. Soft, pillowy, covered in blankets and a homemade quilt. The sheets smelled faintly of some scent with which she was not familiar, something that reminded her of pine.</p><p>“A shower,” she said aloud to herself as she took off the sweaty shirt. She dropped it on the floor at the foot of the bed, paused to remove the pants and underwear, then continued into the bathroom. This time, she took a leisurely hot water shower, wrapped herself up in the warm green robe that hung on the back of the door, and used the sonics to dry her hair. When she emerged from the steamy bathroom, the curtains were rising and falling in the breeze, the room was the perfect temperature -- not too warm, not too cold -- and she decided to settle into bed naked.</p><p>But once between the sheets, she found that while her body was tired, her mind wanted to run away to consideration of the morning’s activities. She debated meditating, and decided to give her thoughts a few minutes to work themselves out.</p><p>Had the captain honestly decided he wanted to be <em>friends</em> with her? Not just the fleeting moments of comradery, but intimate friends?</p><p>Closing her eyes, she let the breeze caress her body, and then moved to get under the covers. The sheets were warm in a matter of seconds. She enjoyed sinking into the bed, and stared up at the ceiling. Through the open window, she heard someone calling out in French.</p><p>Would he reverse his decision? Perhaps when they were back aboard the <em>Enterprise</em>. Sometimes people did this under stress, influenced by trauma, and reversed course once things stabilized. Obviously, he was overthinking everything.</p><p>Closing her eyes, she started one of her favorite meditations, letting the mantra flow in her thoughts. She would think about the wisdom of not letting boundaries between counselor and client become so muddled later, when she could do it without self recrimination.</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p> </p><p>On the fourth day of his trip, Jean-Luc left his rental, shouldering his bag, and headed toward the middle of town. The transporter wasn’t far. He would be back in LaBarre and walking toward the winery within the hour, and be home for lunch.</p><p>Corsica was beautiful, though. As he walked the streets of Porto-Vecchio, he saw people gardening in yards, walking together two by two, all smiling and at ease. He’d enjoyed his time here more than he’d expected.</p><p>In a session about two years after coming aboard, Deanna had suggested to him that his intense focus on his work might be his way of escaping some internal tension or turmoil -- she’d pointed out that ‘keeping busy’ was often how very anxious or traumatized people managed their symptoms. At the time, he’d been dismissive of her suggestion.</p><p>Now that he had gone to the brink of insanity and come back, he looked differently at these people living quiet lives on Earth. Was it true? Did all his dedication and devotion amount to nothing more than a defense mechanism? It had been his preoccupation since after the hike, continuing all day the next day as he wandered through the fortress at Bonifacio and stared at ancient weaponry.</p><p>What would he have been, had he chosen differently and stayed on Earth? Now that he asked himself the question, there were so many possible answers. He might have gone to a different winery to learn the trade, and started his own. He might have found archaeology before Starfleet took him off planet and gone wandering on his own, as a part of some expedition -- perhaps joined his own mentor on his travels. Professor Galen had many students after all.</p><p>It was a Pandora’s box, once the lid was off -- and he discovered another reason he tended to focus on the future with diligence. The questions were stressful all on their own, leading him down the litany of regrets and lost possibilities. He hated thinking about it. Another reason he had resisted detailed discussion of his past with the counselor.</p><p>Last night, he’d come to the late conclusion that his determination to be in Starfleet might possibly have come out of a desire to show his father, who infuriated him, that he was wrong. The counselor had asked about that possibility in an early session, but he’d scoffed at it at the time. For hours he should have been asleep, he had wavered back and forth -- he had enjoyed so much of his career, after all. He didn’t like how that cycle of thought had continued until early morning, and threatened to continue even now.</p><p>He reached the transporter, looked around -- there wasn’t a line, no one was trying to leave today. Coming to a stop at the kiosk, he touched the menu, bringing up a list of the most local transporter hubs. LaBarre was another screen downward.</p><p>The sound of a shoe on pavement distracted him. He looked to his right, to find Deanna approaching. She, too, had a duffel bag dangling from a shoulder. “Good morning,” she said.</p><p>“Good morning,” he replied automatically. “On your way back?”</p><p>“I contacted Will and asked for another couple of days -- I decided to head somewhere else, now that I have wandered the fair shores of Corsica to my satisfaction,” she said with a smile. “Are you heading back to your brother’s?”</p><p>“That is the plan.” He hesitated, turning to face her more directly. “I feel that I owe you an apology.”</p><p>She flinched, and took a step backward. He’d surprised her. “You do?”</p><p>“I have in past counseling sessions been dismissive of your suggestions. I spent quite a few hours last night contemplating my past. I think a large part of my determination to stay in Starfleet has been a rebellion against my father, all along, or at least most of it is. I do enjoy aspects of the work -- I do believe in the principles upon which the Federation was founded, and that defending them is important. But my inflexibility and inability to even imagine myself doing anything else suggests that some of my choices have been forced into a pattern similar to my father’s, which I found so maddening. The irony of becoming like the man I disdained….”</p><p>Her soft smile disarmed him. But when she spoke it was all counselor. “Delayed insight is still insight. It sounds like you made good use of your time here.”</p><p>“It may not have been the restful time away that I wanted, but I did need to clear out the cobwebs. So I agree with you. When we get back to the <em>Enterprise</em> -- “ He paused, as the words came out -- just like that, it fell into place.</p><p>Just because the original decision was made as an act of rebellion, that did not invalidate his career. He felt it in his bones, unlike all the other ethereal options that floated around in his head for the past weeks -- this one was his path. The <em>Enterprise</em> was home.</p><p>Deanna’s smile mirrored his rising satisfaction with the statement. She said nothing, however. Waiting for him to finish the thought.</p><p>“When we get back, I will make an appointment and we can discuss it further. I think I have more work to do, and I’m finally ready to do it. I hope you enjoy the remainder of your time off, Counselor.”</p><p>“Thank you, sir. And I hope the rest of your time with your family will be easier, and you’ll be able to rest. I’m sure there will be plenty of things to do before we leave orbit.”</p><p>He tapped on the menu, turned without another hesitation, and stepped forward to the transporter pad. As he stopped the beam caught him and transported him away to LaBarre. He stood for a moment -- it wasn’t disorienting, as the time zone was the same -- and took note of the village around him. Like Porto-Vecchio, it was a careful representation of the past, with grace notes of the present like the transporter. There were a few people walking by, taking no notice of him, and the florist was restocking his tables in front of his shop.</p><p>Hitching his bag higher on his back, he set off for home, by way of the chateau.</p>
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